He left the room, his uniform shoes clumping along the floor.
* *
Veronica worked with Pat some more that afternoon. “You know, you were doing so well with those three letter words, I brought down some handouts about vowels and consonants. And look at this nice chart. Forty-two sounds to study. Nineteen consonants, ten vowels, short and long, three murmur diphthongs—”
“What?” Pat asked. “Aren’t those bathing suits, or underwear, or something?”
Veronica sighed at him. “You know what they are from yesterday; I can see it in those mischievous blue eyes. And remember the digraphs—like ch, sh, th? Then the five special vowel sounds. Once we master this, you’ll be on your way. I know some of this may come back to you from your early, early days of school, and some you’ll have to re-learn. But Pat, you’re my brightest student of all, and I know I’ll have you reading Dylan Thomas before long.”
“Why him?”
“Isn’t he Irish?”
Pat shook his head. “Welsh, Love. You have to stay on the right island. Though I’ll grant he’s written some fine poems. Janet played me some of his works on tape, in past years.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. You know, as you progress, we could have you listen to a work on tape as you read it. I’m going to jot that down as an idea for later.” She wrote a quick sentence inside her binder.
“You’re a sweet teacher, and if I were thirty years younger, I’d bring you a shiny red apple and my heart on my sleeve; course then I’d have to fight me own son.”
“Stop,” she said, laughing. “Now look at these words, and we’ll note the vowel sounds. Basically, every vowel has a long and a short sound, and you make these sounds every day, so we’ll just point them out now—”
“He feels something very deep for you, love. I haven’t ever seen him look like this, although I’ve been watching for it. Elizabeth, that’s his ex, she’s an okay girl, but she wasn’t for him. Our families didn’t mesh, and ultimately those two didn’t mesh, either. I’d never seen him look at her the way he looks at you.”
“Pat, please. I know you mean well, but this is hard for me. And it’s just my first day, and I want to make a good impression, so if you don’t mind—”
“All right, teacher,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “A, e, i, o, u. The five vowels. And sometimes y.”
“Excellent. Now let’s look at the sounds that A makes.”
A shadow loomed over their table. She knew it was Simon again before she looked up. God, the man could be a nuisance. She tried to conceal the little smile that came unbidden to her lips. “Yes?” she asked tersely, her pencil hovering over their worksheet. Then, without waiting for him to answer, she looked at Pat and said, “Okay, let’s switch to the vowel ‘i’. ‘Simon’ has the long i sound. ‘Is’ has the short i sound, and so does ‘interrupting.’
She looked earnestly at her student while she felt Simon’s disapproval emanating from him. She glanced at his face to see him smiling grimly at her joke.
“Save me, lad,” his father said. “She’s been working me for two hours. An’ me bein’ a senior citizen, an’ all.”
Veronica made an indignant sound, but soon realized that Simon’s father was conspiring with him. She threw down her pencil. “You are as bad as he is,” she said sternly to Pat. “We’re trying to learn here. You’re not paying me to socialize with your son.”
“Oh, as to that, it’s my son that’s doin’ the paying,” Pat said easily. He’d grown more Irish since Simon had appeared. Apparently he worried less about formality when he was having fun.
Veronica looked at Simon, who held up his hands in protest. “I haven’t even said anything yet,” he said.
“What were you going to say?” she asked suspiciously.
“I was going to remind you that you wanted me to take you shopping, and that we had a date for dinner. You can just wear something casual.” His green eyes widened with innocence, as though this had all been Veronica’s idea.
“That is not the way I remember it,” she said, looking from one man to the other. “All right, you know what? Fine. I love shopping. And you—” she gave Pat a mock glare— “you have homework.” She shoved the book at him. “The next two pages. For tomorrow. And then we’re going to try to read a bit. I’m going to make up some sentences with the words we learned.”
“I’m just a poor old man,” Pat said in a doddering voice.
She laughed. “A tricky old man, if you ask me.” She stood up and stretched, purposely lifting her arms over her head and thrusting out her chest so that Simon could eat his heart out.
“All right, Mr. Lassiter, give me a moment to get ready, and I’ll join you for some shopping.”
She walked past him and out of the cafeteria. By the time she reached her room she’d admitted it to herself. Not only was she happy that Simon was still pursuing her, she was also looking forward to the evening. The truth was, she thought, as she changed into a pair of jeans and a V-neck rust-colored sweater, she couldn’t wait to be alone with him.
Chapter Eight
Simon brought his Toyota to the front door. The evening was cool, but not as cold as it would get in the coming months. She came running out, looking like a boy’s dream. Tight jeans, sweater cut low enough that it made a man yearn for more, hair loose and flowing on her shoulders. A little gold heart pendant and matching earrings, he noted critically as she got in beside him, settling her purse in her lap and buckling in primly.
“I spoke to my friend John,” he said. “Gave him your note. He said he’ll look into it. He says at this point there’s really nothing to worry about.”
“What do you mean, at this point?”
“Well, meaning unless you get another one, it’s just one of those weird things that some goofy kid tried to do.”
“A kid who knew my name?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Like I said, no worries. As you’ve learned, I’ve got my eye on you, so no man’s going to get within a mile of you without me knowing. And of course my bedroom is just by yours, so if you were frightened in the night—”
She laughed. “You haven’t missed an opportunity, I have to give you credit.”
“Pretty necklace,” he said. “That a gift from someone?”
Her laughter ended on a sigh. “This is my first official day working for you, do you know that? And you’ve already asked me the most personal questions; I should really be incredibly offended.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
He sensed an advantage here, and decided to press it. He shifted into drive and left the Inn behind. “Why aren’t you offended?” He looked at the road.
“Well, because I know that you’re asking because you—uh—like me. And it’s sort of sweet and flattering, so I’m cutting you some slack. A lot of slack, actually.” Her voice was still light, friendly. “And as it happens, this necklace was a gift from Joey Harris.”
“Joey Harris.” He felt hate building in him, hate for an unknown man who went by the boyish name of ‘Joey.’
“Age eight. One of my students.”
“Ah.” He hid his euphoria beneath some sightseeing. “There’s an antique barn you might like to visit some day. You can walk there from the Inn,” he said, pointing. “Sarah Aiken is the owner. She can answer any question you have about antiques.”
“Great.” She was looking out her window.
“Is there any other reason you might be cutting me some slack, Veronica?” he asked, pushing. He couldn’t believe how persistent he’d been with her. It wasn’t like him.
“What other reason would there be?” She turned back to him; he could see her out of the corner of his eye. He stole a glance at her. God, she was pretty.
“Because you like me, too. First day or no first day.”
She pursed out her
lips thoughtfully. “Well, I think that much is implied by my behavior. My totally inappropriate behavior.”
“It’s only inappropriate if one of us objects,” he said. Then, when she didn’t answer, he pointed again. “This is a little stretch of forest preserve. Come out here in the morning and you’re bound to see deer. We can have a picnic out here, if you’d like. We’ll bring Lilah. She loves watching for wildlife. Doesn’t get much in Chicago.”
“I’m glad she has you,” Veronica told him unexpectedly.
“What? Oh, I get it. Not really impressed with Elizabeth, were you?”
“I couldn’t say. I only spoke to her for a moment.”
“That would be enough to get a feel, as I imagine she was yelling at you.”
“Bingo. And she didn’t ask about Lilah—if she was all right. If she was afraid. You did.”
Her voice was full of such warm praise that he turned to her with new hope. “So I passed a little test, did I? Before you even met me.”
“Yes, you did. And I liked your voice. I sensed warmth and concern and humor.”
“And do I still project all those things?”
She smiled. “Yes, of course. I think you make a wonderful first impression. Of course, the first impression is the easy one, isn’t it?” Her voice was growing distant again as she looked out the window at the passing trees. He tried a desperate measure.
“Wait, wait! Let’s go back to what a great dad I am and how warm my voice is. Don’t I earn something for that?”
She was wearing her teachery look; he could tell even while he watched the road. What do you mean by that, young man?
“Earn something? What exactly do you want to earn?”
“A kiss,” he said. God, he was pathetic. He’d never begged a woman for anything before, and he practically followed this one around on his knees. He ventured a glimpse at her, and saw her stern look change to one of amusement and, what was it? Mischief?
“All right,” she said. “Pull over.”
“What?” He practically drove into a tree.
“Pull over. On the shoulder there. There’s no traffic; it wouldn’t be dangerous.”
He did it. His emotional age was getting younger and younger. He just wanted attention from her, a physical caress, a kind word. Anything. Throw me a bone, he thought miserably, and I’ll fetch it.
He pulled over, shifted into park, and looked at her. She was smiling. God, she was confusing him again. She said it couldn’t happen. She said they had to act like adults. Now she was giving him a come hither look from the passenger seat. Women were so befuddling, and so sexy, and lord, he wanted to jump down her shirt and look around.
“I wore these jeans for you,” she said, unbuckling and kneeling on her seat.
“They’re perfect,” he said hoarsely.
“This car is too little, and there’s a stick shift in the way. How am I supposed to give you that kiss?” she asked him sweetly.
He didn’t even respond; he just reached over, grabbed her, and swung her across the car onto his lap. “Oh,” she said. She was straddling him in what he was sure she would think was an unladylike position, but it felt very comfortable to him, and it put them face to face.
“So kiss me,” he said.
She lowered her head and tentatively put her lips against his; instantly the spark was back, and they both felt it. Her lips parted in surprise and he dove into her with his tongue, his hands on either side of her face. For several minutes he was conscious of nothing but the feel of her: her soft sweater as it rubbed against him, her silky hair in his hands, her fingers grasping the back of his neck. He was just starting to bring his hands around to rub the front of that fuzzy sweater when she pulled gently away. “I think that counts as more than one kiss,” she said softly. She traced a finger along his lip and he thought he might faint from the sensual pleasure of it.
“Who’s counting?” he managed to say.
She sighed. “Simon, I like you so much.”
“I like you, too. Can I say something without you thinking it’s a line?”
“What?” She raised her pretty eyebrows. They were fair, at least two shades lighter than her hair.
“You’re beautiful.”
She blushed, and her skin glowed with that rose petal look he’d admired yesterday. He wanted to stay here all day and kiss her; he wanted to strip off her sweater and those snug jeans and find the soft woman underneath. He wanted to explore her and surprise her and please her.
This must have been reflected in his face, because she said, “Simon, we’re going too fast.”
His mood lifted even more. This was a far cry from the “We can’t do this” speech he’d gotten that same morning. This he could accept. Besides, she was right. “I’m sorry,” he said. He lifted her gently and guided her back to her seat. She looked surprised, he noted smugly, even regretful. Perhaps she’d expected him to push on. “I don’t want to rush you. You’re absolutely right.”
“Thank you.” She was flustered. She rustled around inside her purse, he suspected for something to do with her hands, which had moments ago been clutching his neck and shoulders.
“Can I at least tell people you’re my girlfriend? That we’re dating?”
She turned to him. “Would we actually go on dates?”
He laughed. Already she’d made him laugh a great deal. She was fast becoming his addiction, but she seemed to be a healthy one. “Yes. In fact, I’m inviting you on one right now. Girlfriend, will you go to the barn dance with me Saturday?”
It was her turn to laugh; she thought he was joking. “That’s a good one,” she said.
“I’m serious. You know Sarah Aiken, the woman I told you about? Once a year around December 1, her birthday, she opens up half of her antique barn for a dance. It’s BYOB, and the music is just cd’s people bring in, but it’s lots of fun. I normally volunteer as one of the bartenders, but this year I’ve got something real purty to show off.”
“God, you’re relentless,” she said. “And yes, I’d love to go.”
“Good,” he said. He hoped his relief didn’t show. He felt himself slipping back into pushing mode, but he couldn’t help it. “That’s why you need to buy that little black dress I told you about. They may be just a bunch of drunkards by the end of the night, but folks dress well for Sarah’s birthday.”
She snorted. He smiled. They drove on.
* *
In town she was a whirlwind. She had a credit card, he noted, and she wasn’t afraid to use it. He wondered if she had a lot of debt. Uh-oh, I’m like a proprietal husband already, he thought, but it only made him feel good. Veronica was the sort of woman he wanted, not just to kiss and cuddle, but to love and protect and help. Not that she wasn’t a strong woman, God knew. She was certainly holding her own against his juggernaut of desire.
She went into a bookstore and picked up some things for Pat’s lessons. She pointed out some books that Lilah would like. “My students loved this one,” she said, caressing a book about cows who could type. “And it happens on a farm. She could read it to Pat.”
Simon was interested. “Show me some other books that are good for a ten-year-old.” She did, sorting through the children’s section with great care. She selected several things, and Simon bought them.
They passed a children’s clothing store. Veronica pointed at the window. “Lilah would look pretty in that, wouldn’t she?” Never mind that Lilah had a million expensive outfits, and that her mother had agreed to send on more clothes. The outfit in the window was a blue jean top with pink fringe along the sleeves and hem; matching jean pants were also fringed in pink. It looked like a flashback to the sixties, but apparently it was what kids were wearing these days. Besides, when was the last time he’d bought something for his daughter?
He turned to her, helplessly. “What would her size be, do
you think?”
She laughed, took his hand, and led him in. He came out with a purchase and a happy feeling. Veronica made him feel good.
She found a store for women’s clothing. She modeled some things for him in front of the fitting room. He ogled her no matter what she put on, and it made her giggle. She made her choices quickly, he granted her that. She didn’t put him through hours of looking. She tried on some dresses, but she wouldn’t let him see those. It was not his imagination, he thought. She’s enjoying this; it’s a romantic little game to her to tease me. He wanted to be angry, but he merely smiled as she joined him on the pavement, laden with bags. “Let me hold those for you.”
“You hold two and I’ll hold two,” she said. “You can have the heavy ones.”
“Ready for dinner yet?” he asked her. He noticed she was shivering. The temperature had dropped about ten degrees with the setting of the sun. He took off the blazer he wore with his jeans and slipped it around her shoulders. She set down her bags and put it all the way on. It pleased him to see her accept it.
“That was sweet; thank you,” she told him. “And no, I want to make one more stop. I need to get some real Vermont syrup.”
“We have plenty in the café.”
“This is for my mom,” she said.
Ah. So he was getting closer to her. She had actually mentioned her family.
“Does she like syrup?”
“Oh, yes. Dad used to be a big pancake lover. He died, my dad. Six years ago. Mom makes these great waffles. We used to—”
“Yes?”
“Oh, nothing. I don’t think I’ll buy it after all.” She looked suddenly sad, just like that. He couldn’t bear it, seeing her eyes fill with pain.
“Oh, yes you will. Look. Taylor’s. All sorts of Vermont souvenirs. Postcards, T-shirts, blah, blah, blah. And syrup. Pure maple, and more than delicious.” He led her in, helped her make a selection, a little whimsical tin in the shape of a log cabin, and watched as it was rung up. Her heart wasn’t in the purchase, not the way it had been in the sudden impulse. Veronica seemed to be a girl practiced at talking herself out of her inclinations.
Love, Lust, and The Lassiters Page 6
